


The Sorcerer & Guardian Angel

by cocotiks



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Angels, Demons, F/M, Heaven, Hell, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Villains, Show-divergent, Slow Burn, There is no sabrina in this, Time Travel, non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23330077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cocotiks/pseuds/cocotiks
Summary: He once served the God of Hell. She is an angel of Heaven.Nicholas Scratch was lost. All he knew was the torment he went through of being a prison for Lucifer himself. Just when he thought he could redeem himself when pagans attack his home and friends, he gets teleported to 1980, and shot in the stomach by some girl with a white bow and arrow, who turns out to be an angel...Sophiel has lived 300 years and counting. Her purpose is to serve God, by killing witches and demons, she's working on killing enough in order to get her wings back and she won't accept failures or anyone getting in her way. Her latest job seemed straightforward to her: a dark-haired witch from Greendale that landed on her radar. But he is not at all what she expected.Soon, they realise there are forces more sinister than either them anticipated. Their animosity towards one another, will get them nowhere. Working together is the only way to save the people they care for the most, and even the future of humanity.Set towards the end of season 3 episode 7. Canon-divergence and spoilers for season 3. I have added and changed some mythos for this ie witch-powers.
Relationships: Nicholas Scratch (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends. This is purely Nick centred, with OC female lead and OC bad guys/good guys. All the mythology is what I drew from various angel and demon related/sci-fi/supernatural fiction already out there. 
> 
> I was hooked on the idea of angels vs witches for a long time since they came in the previous seasons for one episode. Except now I think the idea of them working together seems more intriguing. Honestly, I like Nicholas Scratch and I didn't like how they portrayed him in s3 hence this fanfic. Also, there will not be any appearances of characters from the show beyond a few mentions, since Nick time-travels to the past in this.
> 
> I hope you guys can give it a shot! Thanks for coming by to read my little story.

**1980 Brooklyn**

A car horn blared above ground on the busy New York street. A seemingly typical Saturday evening, city-folk bar hopping, lining up outside the newest clubs. Below ground Sophie, dashed around a corner, the tunnels black as ink and echoing her foots step as the sewage water splashed onto her corduroy pants. 

A lot of bad things could happen tonight; the mortals could drink too much for their liver's to detoxify, get sick on the pavement, or perhaps the bouncer at the disco would notice their fake ID's and throw them out of the queue.

But the absolutely worst thing that could happen: a winged demon swallowing them whole.

Sophie's job was to make sure that didn't happen. The demon cried out, enraged and in pain. His cries reverberated back to her in the cavernous ceilings of the New York sewers. She was gaining on it and nocked another arrow. It struck the wall as the demon shrieked and swerved, flapping it's bat-like wings in a zig-zag flight path, it's gargoyle head rearing. She slowed it down momentarily by nicking a wing but it still had enough strength to crash up through the manhole and onto the street.

She clutched her Hunter's compass in her pocket and whispered an incantation. The muddy water around her shoes turned to the fake grass of a charming apartment rooftop. 

Charming until a hellborn demon showed up, that is. 

The party goers screamed and ran from the demon, there was chaos in every direction. The demon splintered a wooden table into two as it crashed landed, another failed attempt to take flight. The mortals would have to be memory-wiped later. Sophie pushed past a screaming mortal in the way, nocked her bow and let the arrow loose. It impaled the demon between the shoulder blades. As she rushed closer, the sigh of a sword pierced through the air and the head of the demon came off. Black blood spurted out like a fountain of its severed neck. It fell to the ground with a thud amidst red party cups and fairy lights, turning to black ash and sulphur. 

She looked up to see Ramiel wielding a Holy blade, he did an impressive twist and arch, the razor end of the blade a blur of silver, he was not the least bit out of breathe. He ran his fingers through the curly golden hair of the mortal's body he borrowed. Some would say he appeared 'handsome,' with strong lean arms and sharp blue eyes.

To Sophie, he was a loathsome sight. 

"Rami? What are you doing here? The scoundrel was _mine."_

"You were too slow," he replied, shrugging, he couldn't care less. "You won't be the best if you're too slow. I know you want to be the best." 

"Stay out of my way," she said getting riled up. She wasn't one to raise her voice against anything or anyone, but Ramiel had a way of bringing out the worst in her. 

"You looked so adorable with the little bow and arrow, like cousin Cupid." It wasn't the most creative of insults, but she was irked nonetheless, no one liked being compared to that over-weight, 6-winged cherub that had too much time on his hands to meddle in the love lies of mortals. "No matter how fat he is, at least he still has wings." 

Her glare deepened at the sour reminder. 

A silver light emanated from his hand as he wiped the memories of the mortals. Hopefully it was a thorough wipe, or a left-out human was going to go insane with what he or she had seen.He always did this, stealing the prizes of other hunters. Each of them had quotas to fill, none more so than Sophie, she had a debt to repay back for crying out loud, Ramiel wasn't playing fair at all. 

"That wasn't fair you know," she reproached. "I was tracking that demon for weeks. I am trying to get my numbers up, you know that."

"I do, but so am I, and since when has our God ever been fair?" He smirked. "You're going to have to do more than chase low-rank demons if you want to get back in the Legion's good graces." He cleaned the edge of the silver blade on his pants and sheathed it. It was a gift to him from Michael, the general Ramiel served under, and he loved flaunting it.

"A war is always brewing dear Sophie, we have to be ready for anything."

She crossed her arms, "are you ever going to return the soul of the boy you're wearing?"

"He wanted this duty," replied Ramiel. Usually it was against the Rites to stop a soul from entering Heaven, unless they offered. "If it was up to me, I wouldn't wear these sacks of flesh, their bodies are oh so delicate. On the upside; people seem to listen to 'Zack' for some reason. Women stare and hold onto every word I say, girls giggle, he must look very appealing."

Sophie rolled her eyes. Human concepts of beauty puzzled her sometimes, Rami had used that to his advantages to fornicate with humans, it was against the Rites to do that too. She had no evidence, but he she'd heard him brag about it more than once. 

"Anyway, you're wanted back at the Castellan, better not be late," he said, dusting his hands with a smug smile. "Uriel doesn't like to be kept waiting."

* * *

**2019, Greendale**

Nick squeezed his eyes shut, prayed to whatever God was listening, and then ran for his life. 

_The Academy we have to make it to the Academy,_ he chanted in his head. He was too weak to conjure any teleportation spell to get him and Sabrina's friends there, the old-fashioned sprint would have to do. 

He couldn't remember the last time he prayed for anything, and he knew he could not stand worshipping any deity after what the Dark Lord put him through. So when the Pagans came to town and launched their attack on the citizens of Greendale, he was going to make damn sure he wasn't stepped on again by any God that wanted to sacrifice him. 

"Hurry!" He screamed at them, gasping for air as his legs burning from the effort. 

He burst through the doors of the Academy. The ancient stones circled the main hall where a statue of Lucifer once stood. Nick skidded to a halt, his mind racing for the next step.

Then from the library they came forward;

"Father Blackwood," he said darkly, a growl ripped through Nick's throat at the sight of him. Blackwood was flanked by two carnival cronies for back up, not like he needed it. He had more power than any of the coven witches combined. Nick didn't stand a chance and they both knew it. _Of course he would side with the enemies of the coven that exiled him._

"Come for another hit, Nicholas?" He taunted. "What will it be this time? Opium? Dragon's tears?" Blackwood knew as much of Nick's suffering as Lucifer did. He knew too much. Then he saw Agatha emerge behind them, there was clearly something wrong with her. Her eyes looked wide, lost, yet her mouth curled up sinisterly and Nick's blood curdled.

"Agatha?" He asked her, keeping Sabrina's friends behind him with a protective arm. She wore a white dress with patches of dried blood on it, he didn't want to know whom it belonged to. "What's wrong with you?" He may have had a choppy relationship with the weird sisters, but they were part of his coven and she didn't deserve this.

"Oh she's perfectly fine," smirked Blackwood.

When she laughed high-pitched and manically, he knew there was no saving her. They charged for them. He heard Theo squeal in fear. 

Nick spun around and shoved at Harvey and Ros, his eyes flying between all of them. "Run, hide. Now." 

Harvey grabbed onto his jacket; "Nick, you can't fight them alone." He could see the plea in his eyes to make him come with them, but he could do more if he stayed;

"I can't. They have powers, and they'll use them on you. I can slow them down."

"Don't be an idiot," Harvey shouted at him. "You don't have any either."

He gave him a solemn, determined stare. "I have enough to hold them off." Enough to kill them and himself in the process. Every witch and warlock knew; despite being low on powers, in order to summon the greatest depths of their magic during peril, it would conversely lead to all other bodily functions failing in the process, hence why no one risked it unless they intended not live afterwards.

There was a plea in Harvey's eyes. "Nick-"

"Just go!" He gave him one more rough shove, to show him that he meant it. Only he could do this. Nick knew suffering and torture as Lucifer’s prison, he could endure that pain better than anyone else here, and he had no doubt that was what Blackwood and the pagans had in store for Sabrina's friends. He would not let them suffer that fate. He would fight for them, redeem something of his soul.

"Find Sabrina at the Spellman's. Go." He ordered, strong and forceful, yet at the end his voice did waver.

With a quick nod from Harvey that said all that needed to be said between them; gratitude, an apology, a wish that he would somehow make it; the group dashed off. Nick turned around to face Blackwood and his allies advancing to him. He held onto one of the tall ancient stones that circled the hall, a conduit for his powers, to summon the wisdom of all the Greendale witches before him. From within him, with his last breathe, he muttered his last spell. 

* * *

**The Castellan**

Sophie unclenched her fist as she arrived at the Castellan. She glanced at the watch on her wrist, the hands frozen as time stopped. Rules of human science didn't apply on the first sphere. The Castellan had no doors, only curtains of waterfalls at the main arches of the castle. She made her way to the great hall. All angels posted here were young, millenia younger than the archangels.

Sophie herself was only 236 years old. Lately she hadn't been so successful with her duty to hunt dark creatures, as per Ramiel's reminders. But in retrospect, she deserved it, to have her wings plucked from her, a penance for an erroneous mistake she made long ago.

As she outstretched her arms, her human clothing melted away, a white cloak formed around her in its place, it appeared heavy on her shoulders, but was light as air. Only on the first sphere she could meet angels from other factions. After the Second Great War, sending younger angels to complete their compulsory Earth bound-duties for a thousand years, was the one thing the warring fractions agreed upon. They were at a stalemate for a century now, but who knew when another conflict would erupt again, after all, no one expected the heavenly host to turn on one another in the first place. Civil wars, disputes, were traits of demon in Hell, not rule-following, obedient, God-fearing angels.

She wound between gilded golden pillars, the tops obscured by cotton candy clouds of pale pink and baby blue. Beyond that, a ceiling of stars winking down at them. She made her way to the congregated angels on floors of white marble veined with black. 

Uriel appeared in a burst of white light, floating over them with long wings that spanned 16 feet across. The higher authority he had over them was unspoken, only power an Archangel could have. He was shape-shifted into his chosen mortal form; an olive-skinned human man with green eyes and cropped brown hair. The angels gathered around to take the divine orders; 

"God calls upon the Legion of hunters to face a growing threat that we know well," his voice boomed over them. "Witches." 

Sophie bristled at the very word.

"They are amassing across the United Kingdom. Covens in Scotland and the Northern counties are more than two dozen in members. It is an epidemic that needs to be squashed and cleansed. We need to act now; swift and mercilessly."

"Sophiel," he called her by the full name, "you will go to Scotland, Maharial to Wales. Agbas and Paschar divide the Northern counties amongst yourselves. Offer these witches a choice of accepting the true God, show mercy if you can. If they choose to cling to their false lord...then you know what is to be done. Go in grace." 

She turned to Maharial beside her. Her closest friend. Neither of them had taken any sides during the wars, preferring to stay neutral. They were often mocked for not 'having a backbone.’

Maharial was a pot-bellied white ginger-haired male one moment, then shifted into the form of a tall black woman, with smooth skin and voluminous black hair.

"Demon hunt didn't go so well?" The voice was still scratchy and male, Maharial cleared her throat and a deeper, yet feminine voice came out next; "Rami never plays nice."

They peered over their shoulders at him, chatting to Paschar and Agbas.

"He's trying to compete with me, Heaven knows why."

"You can prove your worthiness with this witch hunt," said Maharial. "Raphael and Michael are even considering peace so that the heavenly host is unified against this growing threat on the horizon." 

"Our great generals are considering peace? It hasn't even been a millenia yet. Let me guess? The end times are nigh?" 

"When are they not?" Maharial smiled at her witty remark. "Besides, time works differently for the higher-ups, while we have to live every minute and hour at the laborious pace of mortals." 

"Perhaps we'll learn to be more patient?"

"Always looking on the bright side aren't you?" Her friend snickered. A ring of molten gold started to form at her heels; "go in grace, Sophie." 

"Go in grace." 

The angel disappeared in a swirl of golden light. 

Sophie drew out her compass, it soaked up the ether around her. 

The compass began to quiver in her palm. She closed her eyes, picturing a map of the stars, not concentrating too hard, just enough to allow the compass to tug her gently along, like a boat being guided down a stream.

...

When she opened her eyes the moon was the same, the sky an inky blue. The stars were not as bright as it was as the Castellan, but mortal cities and their yellow lights were far from here.

She was on the ridge of a hill, the grass came up to her shin, shimmering, undulating like waves in the ocean. She turned around and spotted a circle of stones. Ancient grey slabs, untouched since the creation of the Earth, 15 feet tall. Her white cloak dissolved into human attire in order to be less conspicuous; dark jeans, boots, and a suede coat. Tasteful for the decade. 

She nocked her arrow and hurried through the grass towards the stones. The glare of red light emanating from them. She spotted the witch, or rather warlock, leaning on a stone, materialising from the red light. He was catching his breathe, a mop of curly raven hair on his head. She could sense the dark energy swirling around his soul, the corruption laying thick. Witches could live long, happy lives with evil residing in them. Yet there was something different about him too; anguish, long-suffering, even heartbreak.

In many ways he was human, but Sophie couldn't forgive the soul of every witch who’d suffered a failed relationship.

Ley lines crossed beneath these lands the stones stood on. She wasn't going to let him get away with whatever satanic ritual he was about to perform here. As her arrow shot for him, he spun about and whipped his hand up to cast the arrow aside. 

"Nice reflexes, traitor," she sneered, another arrow trained on him. 

"Who the heaven are you?" He growled, keeping his hand poised for another spell counterattack, he looked like he'd been through an ordeal himself; sweaty, dirt-smudged clothing, faint cuts on his arms.

"You say it like it's a curse," she scorned. 

"Where am I?" He demanded vehemently. She responded by loosing another arrow as a warning and it struck the stone by his ear. "Damn it!" He hissed as she advanced closer. 

"Scotland," replied Sophie, commanding, "step away from the stones and renounce your Dark Lord or face our fury." The closer she got to him, the more she noted how worn out he looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks, even his cheek were hollowed out. _This is going to be so easy. He's already dying._

"Already done," said the warlock, keeping his hand poised to deflect her arrows. "Renounced him a long fucking time ago, don't you keep up?" 

She raised a brow at him. There were many covens and cults on the Earth it was hard to keep track with the heresy sometimes. "In that case you will have no issue accepting the true Lord into your soul." 

"What's left of it," he muttered darkly, "oh, you're an angel. Of course, that makes sense. Mmhm, they weren't so pretty the last time we crossed them," he remarked, measuring her up head to toe, enjoying her exasperated eye-roll. "Where's your black sweater and obnoxious name tag?" 

"Excuse me?" 

"Aren't you with the Order of Innocents?" 

She made a sour-face; "I'm not affiliated with that rabid band of lesser angels."

"Rabid angels, huh." His jaw tensed. “There’s hierarchy even in Heaven. You angels are not as strong as you seem. She managed to kill them last time.."

“One of your kind killed an angel?” Anger stirred inside her, she pulled tighter on her bowstring. The Order hadn't ascended to the first sphere in centuries. They were considered rogue soldiers, but they were angels nonetheless. 

"Doesn't matter, she's not here," he muttered disdainfully. "Wherever here is." 

The longer she studied him, his name finally came to her; "I can make this simple for you, Nicholas Scratch. Accept the true Lord and you will be forgiven."

“Ah piss off, I'm not going to bow to any new God." He raised his hand higher, it trembled with weakness, but his tongue moved fast with a spell. The ground beneath her feet sunk like quick sand, before she could be buried in it, Sophie leapt out, her arrow struck him in the stomach too fast for him to dodge it. The warlock gasp and fell to his knees. _Easy,_ she thought.

He tried to raise his hand to defend himself. Sophie dashed to him, her hand glowed, a rope appeared and twisted around him to bind his arms to his sides. He was weak, he couldn't even struggle against them.

"You're weak, your powers are virtually non-existent," she said, standing over him. The dark chaos inside him fluttered like a caged bird.

He peered up at her in pain. "My coven-" 

"Yes. Your coven," she tilted his chin up with her bow. "Where are the rest of them?" 

"Go to hell-" he hacked out a cough with specks of blood. 

She latched onto the arrow inside him and twisted it. "Then where are they?!" 

Nicholas screamed. "G-Greendale," he sputtered through clenched teeth. 

Her mind raced across the maps of the Earth. "That's across the Atlantic, this is Scotland. Where are you here?“ 

He had the gall to throw her a dirty look. “We have other problems besides your kind. If you would fuck-"

"Tell me more," she dug her longbow into his throat.

He glared at her with his last ounce of strength; "I'd rather die," he gritted through blood-stained teeth. 

"You travelled here with the stones like these." Sophie caged her fingers over his head. "Then I guess you'll have to take me to wherever you came from." 

His eyed widened. "Wait-no!-"

...

They landed in a wooded forest, a carpet of burnt orange and red leaves, thick on the forest floor. It was sunset in this hemisphere of Earth. Nicholas was curled up on the ground, wincing in pain. If he died, that would be the end of it.

Dead warlock, meant no interrogation and no answers. 

She roughly grabbed the ropes around him and lifted him to sit. "Your precious stones are beneath the ground, witch." 

"No, no this isn't right," he shook his head. "They were-this doesn't make sense. They were in the Academy. I-where are they? Everything looks the same, the clearing, but...it's different. I don't know how." He stopped as it dawned on him. "...what year is it?" 

The centuries she had been alive, years converged into one another, she had to pause too; "1980."

He went pale as a sheet, the arrow stuck in his belly wasn't helping. 

"1980, oh shit..."

_Interesting._ ”What year do you think it is?"

"We were fighting the pagans." He wasn't listening to her anymore. "I was fighting Blackwood- and now-now I'm here. This is impossible, I just wanted to destroy them, not time travel. They won didn't they? If I couldn't finish them off then they-"

The catastrophic look of failure that took over his face almost made Sophie pity him. Almost. She shook her head. This wasn't right, they weren't supposed to be dealing with Pagans in this day and age. This was bad news for witches, demons and angels alike. The battle he was in, in some distant decade before time travelling here, explained the other wounds he bore. 

Nonetheless, that was the future, she was dealing with a witch problem here and now. Whatever magic he used to travel here had drained him to near completion. She was going to lose him soon; his heart was slowing down, the blood loss too much. The warlock was just a boy, not even 17, he wouldn't be able to resurrect himself after her arrow finished him off.

In a split second decision, Sophie wrapped an arm around him and clenched her fist engulfing both of them in a vortex of coloured light. 

* * *

**Hope you guys like it so far. The female lead is named Sophie, but her 'angel name' is Sophiel, which is like a formal way of addressing her. I made the name based of a list of archangel names and they all ended in -el, so yeah, that's how it came about.**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Nicholas_ **

In his nightmares; he fought the Dark Lord again and again. His head cracked onto the floor, he choked on his own vomit, Lucifer kicked his stomach. They would go for rounds and rounds. All he wished for was death, because death would be painless. Hell was not. There was Lilith's minion taking hot prongs and ripping his tongue out. The smell of burning flesh, his flesh. He also saw flashes of Sabrina, her icy blonde hair and gentle smile, soft palm clutching his face. But that only led to a searing pain in his chest. It was hot, like a furnace trapped inside of him. 

Then, vague sensation of fingers clutching his head, cold drenched over him like a bucket of ice water, a blessed respite. 

Nick opened his eyes, the light stinging. He covered them, trying to get his bearings. He remembered clearly what happened; the Pagans, the Academy, the-

Angel. Time-travel. 

"Nice of you to finally wake-up," she said, peering at him from beneath her long lashes. The angel sat in an armchair at the corner of the room, fiddling with a device on her lap, a compass from the looks of it. 

His throat was dry as sandpaper. At least this time around as a prisoner he still had his tongue. "Where have you taken me now?" He asked, his voice raspy.

She didn't answer him. He sniffed the air and smelt blood. There was a wool blanket over him. He threw it off. The blood on his grey shirt was crusted and deep-red. He lifted his shirt, it wasn't bandaged, but it didn't hurt anymore, and no fresh blood seeped from it. _How is that possible?_

He was fatigued, muscles aching as if he'd run a marathon. He lied on a single bed in a bedroom, there was a cup of steaming hot coco on the night stand. _Odd touch._ _Eerily familiar._ The quaint furnishings, the hatched ceilings akin to an English cottage, the scent of pinecones and hazelnuts on the blanket, the wooden door with the brass handle. An astronomy poster and cartoon drawings of fantastical monsters on the wall across from him.

_Hold on a second..._

His heart stopped at the etchings on the door arch, the kind a parent would use to measure a child's height every birthday...

"I know this place, I grew up here, how are we...?" 

His eyes flew to her, she regarded him with faint contempt. She had wavy dark brown hair down to her waist, freckles across her sunburnt nose and cheeks. Her eyes were an unnatural jade green, deep enough to get lost in, but also bury into you and judge your soul, _as angels do, I suppose. The arrogant shitheads._ She was studying him now, tattooing him with her unblinking gaze. 

Nick started to panic, especially when he glimpsed the view outside; pillowy, white clouds. 

"Am I...am I dead?" He croaked, standing up, dread bubbling up inside of him. He felt unsteady on his feet like the floor would turn to water. "Because there's _no_ way I would've made it to Heaven-"

"Oh. We know," she retorted coldly. "This isn't heaven, and before you ask this isn't purgatory either."

He felt for his pulse, _still there._ He spun around and saw the door again. Nick dashed for his freedom, swung the door open-

And screamed.

His foot teetered at the edge of a misty waterfall, the drop was at least two hundred feet and down into a white abyss, endless clouds that stretched into the horizon as far as the eye could see. Nick clung onto the door frame for dear life. Above him were stars, they looked so close, as if he could grab one with his fingers. The angel gripped his shoulder and dragged him inside, throwing him into the armchair.

He was too weak to conjure any spell right now. He used most of his strength to blast Blackwood into flames and then accidentally time travel, not to mention the angelic forces that made his 'prison' were too strong.

"My wound-" 

"Time doesn't exist where we are, so you're not dying, for now," she gestured to the room. "I made this so you'd wake up somewhere pleasant, might make it easier for us to talk." 

Nick swallowed nervously, settling down. "That's almost...kind," he found himself saying, the thoughtfulness surprising him. "But don't for a second think I'm going to share anything with you. The Order of Innocence attacked and slaughtered my friends," he told her, remembering what she was. He wasn't about to be manipulated into spilling his guts, _figuratively, the arrow isn’t inside me anymore._

“You're only living by the grace of God,” she said haughtily. “A snap of my fingers, we go back to Earth, you die in 1980. Either way, you never make it home. You might as well tell me everything. A last good deed to repent." 

"In exchange for what? A flock of angels descending on my coven and my home, to kill everyone? So my soul gets a ticket to heaven? I don't think so." His energy returned, he was starting to feel like himself again. He crossed his arms over his chest, he had the upper hand here. “I won’t put my friends in harm’s way.”

"We're not like the others you've met. The legion-" 

"You're all the same," he cut in icily. "Go on, snap your fingers, let me die. If your kind are 'goodness' personified, then you'd help us." _As if angels would ever come to the aid of satanic witches, that must truly be Armageddon._

She smirked. "Must be a new low for you, to ask for help from an angel. What happened to your false god? He won’t answer your calls anymore?“

It was going to be a gamble. She was right, he would die, unless somehow...she healed him. "In 40 years time he tries to bring about the apocalypse, and turn my ex-girlfriend, his heir, into the new Queen of Hell," said Nick, shrugging indifferently. Dull ache radiated through his chest but he pushed it aside. The angel didn't react to his statement. “Hm, doesn't sound like news to you." 

"It's not, and mark my words, he is pushed back every time, by _us_." 

"Maybe oversharing future events is a bad idea, it'll mess it all up. Like Back to the Future style." That garnered zero reaction from the angel. "Like the movie? Huh, probably hasn't come out yet."

"Do you accept the true God, Nicholas Scratch?" 

He rolled his eyes, _she's damn persistent_. "I'm not an idiot, I know what happens when I say the words, I become incinerated by some Godly white light and die. Try again.”

"We would do no such thing. Besides, we are in a layer of heaven, the dark lord's powers cannot touch you here."

He gave a derisive chuckle. "I'll pass, I'm in between faiths at the moment. Enjoying my life of sin,” he leaned back in the arm chair, relaxed, crossed his legs and grinned at her. “You should try it, being a righteous Godly slave must get dull once in a while.”

The angel scowled at him. "Why did you renounce your dark lord? Your kind have been loyal to him for millennia, he must have done something wrong, or perhaps you were disobedient and he left you powerless.”

”Why don't you read my mind, like you did to get my name?” 

“I can’t do that, besides, you have a mental block on your mind, an old spell."

He was thoroughly impressed with himself. "Mhm. All the trouble for that spell was good for something." It was what made him top student at the Academy years ago. _Simpler times._

"I can't read your mind, but I can read your soul. I know how much good you've done, and evil, there's copious amounts of that." 

He felt pride at the last part. 

"Your soul also remembers the places where you were last happy, hence I conjured this prison of your childhood home." 

His smile fell. _It was really that long ago?_

It wasn’t like it was a big secret what happened to him. “You want my story? Fine. I was being used a as cage to contain Lucifer." 

"You managed to contain him?" She asked, curious. "And who cursed you to that fate?”

He gave an ironic smirk. “I did. He was going to…hurt people I cared about. I sacrificed myself." Trying to be a good person, a good boyfriend. He did it for love. The dull ache he felt in his joints reached his chest as he thought about it; pain, bitter heartache. When did his life come to this? To these ruins?

“So in addition to being a witch, you’re also an idiot.” She said, blank-faced.

He couldn’t disagree with her. He learning that angels had a blunted emotional range; monotone, righteous, and occasionally, a splash of disdain. “Nevertheless, it was a good deed, while it lasted. But it must have caused a great imbalance." 

_It sure did, and we paid dearly for it. Where was I? Drinking, cheating on Sabrina, snorting whatever drugs I could to drown my sorrows._ Somehow being in the presence of a literal angel only added to his shame. Not that it truly mattered what their kind thought of him. He peered up at her and mustered a smile, _be nice, be nice, make her think her little 'kindness' ploy is working. You're still here Nick, you can get out of this;_

"So, you know my name, what shall I call my lovely host?" 

"Why would that matter?" 

"I'm going to die, aren't I? It feels lonelier to die in the presence of a stranger. Especially the stranger who shot me and is the reason I’ll be knocking on heaven’s door very soon.” He said with a lopsided grin. 

The angel's green eyes locked with his unnervingly. "My name is Sophiel." 

"Huh, never heard of a ‘Saint Sophiel’ before, not famous yet then? No church or shrine dedicated to you?"

"You're a fool if you think that matters to us.”

“You think I’m idiot, but I know angels have wings. Where are yours?” He asked. "You're a celestial being, you must have wings." Her tense silence was answer enough. His eyes widened. "Holy crap, you don't." 

She opened her mouth to counter him when the floor quaked violently sending both of them to the ground, the pictures hanging on the wall knocked off their nails. 

"What was that?!" 

The angel drew her compass out, it rattled in her palm. _It's how she travels._ Another jolt happened again, shaking the furniture and countertops. Sophiel grabbed onto the window sill, and he saw what she saw; red thunder cracked across the sky, a lance of lightening shooting out. 

"I'm needed elsewhere," she hurriedly got to her feet.

Dread filled his bones. "You're going to leave me here? This place is going to fall apart!"

"I'll return," she warned him, with a tone that banished any chance he could talk his way out next time. "Stay put." 

This would be the end of him, Nick sat on the floor against the armchair _. I have to get out of here._

"Think carefully about your choices here, Nicholas Scratch," instructed the angel with a glare. "We are merciful but you are running out of second chances." 

A whirl of liquid gold enveloped her, and she disappeared a blink later. Nick contemplated his next move, then dived for his childhood toy case by the fireplace. He had to set a trap, somehow.

The room shook again, the lampshade was going to collapse, out of habit he aimed his hand at it, freezing it mid-air. A wide smile spread across his face; 

_Well hello, powers are back._

* * *

**_Sophiel_ **

It was probably a bad idea to leave a witch in a prison on the first sphere of Heaven. He shouldn’t even be here in the first place, but she was bending the Rites in order to gather information and eliminate her target. It was disobeying protocol, but Sophie wanted her wings back and she needed the warlock alive for that.

However, distress signals from fellow angels, superseded any of her personal goals.

Inter-dimensional travel through the ether took literally no time at all, unless someone crashed into you mid-teleportation. Which was what happened to her. 

It was akin to a truck colliding into her, with no wings to break the impact, she was flung into the current of light beams, losing control. A hand snatched her wrist to stop her. It was Rami, floating a foot from her. 

"What do you think you're _doing?_ " She demanded crossly. 

"Why are you leaving?" 

"I was interrogating a witch and got the distress signal-"

The look on his face was dire; “it didn’t come from Earth, it’s the angels leaving to go to the Castellan—something is attacking the place, we have to go back!" 

What he was telling her was incomprehensible. "The-the Castellan? How is that possible? Are you sure-“ 

"I don't know how, but we need to go, now!" He held her hand tight and they teleported together.

In the next moment they were in the Castellan. The palace was aflame. 

Sophie had never felt true heat before in her life. She was immune to the temperatures that bothered humans. This was entirely different. It was searing heat, columns of embers and smoke reaching up as far as the eye could see. The air filled with ash, choking her, the skies red like blood. Angels were amassing, shouting at one another to control the flames. She’d never seen this many angels gathered here at once. 

Then, looming over the palace, five hundred feet in the air a gigantic horned beast made of molten lava, brimstone and fire rose, roaring at them. The sound wave threatened to knock her over. From its gaping mouth burst tendrils of fire that shot down at the Castellan. 

"What is God's name, is that?” Yelled Rami.

"Is it hell-born?” Sophie dived into Rami as a golden pillar loomed over them. It splintered into chunks of rubble as they fell to safety. The monster’s giant hand gripped onto a watchtower and broke it in half, casting the pieces aside as if they were made of toy blocks. He made short work of any angels that tried to hinder him with his monstrous backhand.

The Castellan was not built like the stone fortresses mortals lived in. It was guarded by _angels,_ it didn't need to be. It was their power, their might, their divinity that held the palace together. To see the symbol of their might, immortality, being torn to pieces was not only insulting, but pure agony. 

She squinted up at the sky and saw an angel, their wings on fire as they barraged towards the ground at full speed. It crash landed before Sophie could reach them. She recognised the dark hair. 

"Maharial!" She cried, skidding across the ground towards her comrade. She was curled up in a ball, half of her beautiful face was burnt away until the eye socket. Her wings were charred skeletons. Sophie frantically tried to to heal her but her powers could not delay the inevitable. 

"Sophiel...leave, go somewhere safe." Maharial gasped through half of her lips, "it will not stop. It's casting us out to Earth, and the ones who fight it-we're dying."

Hellfire can kill an angel, but this wasn't that, her mouth and eyes glowed with essence that was being sucked out of her, their life force. There was nothing any of them could do to stop it.

Sophie squeezed her hands. “I can't leave you like this." 

"You have to go...both of you."

"If it's attacking this layer of heaven, it will ascent to the others; there will be no more Heaven left,” she heard Rami say behind her. He clutched her shoulder. "Sophiel, we need to go.”

She swallowed and kissed Maharial on the forehead one last time. “Go, in grace..." she whispered, as her friend gave one more shaky breathe and the light inside of her dimmed forever. Her mortal form would disintegrate in a matter of moments. She had lived nearly 500 years, she should have lived 500 more.

Rami pulled her to her feet. “We can't leave,” she told him.

"The archangels will arrive and deal with this." With telekinesis, he manoeuvred falling debris away from them. A group of twenty angels formed a flight sequence above them, advancing for the monster with swords drawn. The pair of them ran into the Castellan and tried their best to re-direct water and ether onto the burning facades but it proved to be fruitless.

"Do you see any of the archangels here?" She shouted to him. "We haven’t needed our great generals in millennia." 

"They're probably quarreling on their thrones! Think this through Sophiel!" He grabbed her arm before she sprinted away from him, he had never shown any concern for her wellbeing in the centuries they'd known each other. "You want to end up like Maharial?" 

"I have to avenge her, fight for our brethren, for our God." Sophiel, wingless as she may be, felt vengeance and hate for the creature attacking their home, she charged for it.

"This is a death wish!” He called to her. Yet Rami followed, because there was no way he would miss the action and be mocked for his cowardice.

The tactic of attacking from the front wasn’t working. It roared until pillars around them shook and tilted to the ground. They got closer, sliding beneath falling buttresses, leaping over balls of fire. She could barely open her eyes against the raging flames, her cheeks burning, the skin on her arms blistering. 

“The beast needs to fall. Tie down it’s arms and legs. Go high, I’ll go low!” She ordered. “Don’t let it swat me aside.”

The hind legs of the creature were shaped like hooves. Once she was a good distance, Sophiel lifted her arms feeling her muscles tense as silver ropes, ten times thicker than what she used on the witch, whipped around it’s legs. Another angel joined them and tried to do the same with her, the monster kept ripping through their binds, but they trudged on.

Rami flew upwards, his wings slicing through the clouds of smoke, two other angels weaved through it’s arms that tried to grab for them.

They almost had it, both legs and arms bound. Then it tilted it’s head down and open it’s mouth. A tunnel of white hot fire incinerated the angel beside Sophiel. She was thrown onto the ground from the very impact of it. Without the angel's added support the leg binds snapped like rubber bands. 

“Sophiel!” She heard Rami yell for her but couldn’t see where he was amongst the thick layer of sulphur and smoke that engulfed the hall.

The beast roared once more and Sophiel looked up as it’s dark mouth opened right above her.

The torrent of fire came for her, Sophiel held her palms forward and a force field formed. The fire collided onto it. Sophiel cried out at the painstaking effort, all she had was the strength of her arms against a tsunami wave of destruction. Her white cloak was torn and burnt to a crisp at the edges where her force field did not reach. Her palms felt like two flat irons had been laid against them. Tears pricked her eyes. _This is it, this is how I die._

With one more mighty shove she made her advanced, sent the torrent of flames into the beast’s own mouth followed by the force field, punching the beast in it’s jaw. It’s head tilted rearwards, enough for the angels with wings to secure ropes around its exposed neck. Her knees buckled. 

Sophie was on the floor, the effort had drained her, until the world spun and she could not see straight. She had not known this kind of weakness in centuries, the kind that tugged you to the ground close to defeat. Rami appeared and helped her to her feet.

“We almost have it-“

“I’m sorry Sophiel,” he said with eerily sad eyes and gripped her shoulder.

She scowled at him, this wasn’t the time for apologies, it was the time to fight, “what are you talking ab-“

“Some of us need to survive this, we won’t be able to make another stand without a leader.” Golden light spun around only her.

“Rami-!”

…

Sophiel landed ungracefully onto the ground. She was at the prison she made for the witch. Her human garments beneath her angel cloak were in tatters too. Rami-the bastard- cast her away from the Castellan with more questions than answers. _If he survives the attack I'll be sure to give him a kick in the balls for this._

All she knew was; the first layer of Heaven was collapsing. She had to get the witch out of there, or all her efforts to save him would be wasted. She got up, floating across the abyss towards the door of the little room.

"Scratch!"

She paused her wary eyes scanning the place. The room was dark. She couldn’t see him.

Until it was too late.

A spider like contraption shot towards her, too fast for her to evade it. It caged around her and pinned her to the wall.

The adrenaline of the fight with the monster still pumped through her as she snarled and struggled. Nicholas appeared, his arm lifted, controlling the cage-device that tightened around her arms.

She couldn't believe it. “You have your powers?”

"In 1980 the coven has it's powers intact,” he smirked triumphantly. “Therefore so do I." 

How she wished she could punch that smile off his face.

The legs of the spider cage squeezed her until she gasped for air.

“Now get me out of here, _angel.”_

“I told you, you would die if you left."

“Not anymore.” He came closer and fished around in her jacket pocket for her compass.

“Don’t you dare!” She growled, he could accidentally send them to another dimension. She painstakingly set the compass to avoid such mistakes, but only if she wielded it. Not the vengeful witch she put an arrow in. “You’ll kill us all if you don’t use it properly!”

“Lucky for both of us, I’m very observant, you're immortal, and I’m dying anyway.” He thrived in this, this chaos. His palm moved closer to her countenance, she flinched. “ _Semimortuus.”_ His breathe ghosted over her face, her vision clouded and the world fell away to darkness.

* * *

**_Nicholas_ **

It was his blind luck and excellent memory that got them to the clearing in Greendale forests. He only had a vague idea on how to use the angel compass, but his risk paid off. Nick covered his eyes against glaring sun. He hissed and rolled to his side. He waved his hand over his abdomen and whispered a healing spell. It did three quarters of the job, the rest would have to heal on its own, or be sped up with potions if he could get his hands on some. He was loathed to admit the angel was right, _damn it,_ his energy and strength was greatly supported by the frozen time-space of Heaven. Now all the pain was catching up to him, and letting him know it.

Grunting, he pushed himself up to stand, nearly losing his balance. His head spun abruptly and he doubled over, retching, but his stomach was empty. He hacked a cough, waves of throbbing pain radiating through his body from his half-healed wound. The angel was knocked out on the ground. The spider-leg cage around her. In the morning sunlight, she looked worse than he did when she shot him. _Good riddance,_ he thought bitterly, and stepped back fully prepared to get the heaven out of there- then he stopped, staring at her longer. 

He didn't have the heart to leave her like that.

_Damn this._

Nonetheless, there was a practical aspect to keeping her around; he needed her to get him home. At surface level bringing her along was suicide, but he was wounded, and not powerful enough to time travel without at least a kickstart from a celestial being. He sighed tiredly, letting his arms hang by his sides. The sleeping incantation would wear off in four hours, he needed to have a plan by then. He bent down and lifted her into his arms, bridal-style. She was not light and he was not at his full strength, the effort made his eyes water. His knees wanted to give up, but he bit his lip and pushed through it, winding between the forest trees towards the Greendale.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Nicholas**

He snuck them into a motel through a back entrance, putting a few of the cleaning staff to sleep on the way. He picked a room and locked the door. Nick set Sophiel down on the bed and collapsed on the couch. He let out one long, tired breathe, his arms weighed like bricks. He was so exhausted, his eyes were slowly closing, he shook his head to rouse himself—now was the worst possible time to even think about rest. A murderous angel was out cold not three feet away from him, he would be gutted in his sleep.

Nick slowly wandered to the bathroom. He was at least a quarter dead, he looked like it, felt it too. He grimaced at his reflection and turned on the tap, washing the dirt caked blood beneath his fingernails. It had been nearly two hours since they landed in the forest, it took forever to get to town in the first place. He still had no feasible plan. _Well played, Scratch, well-fucking played._

When he emerged from the bathroom, she wasn't on the bed anymore, the broken legs of the spider cage on the floor.

_Shit._

The bathroom door slammed, he whipped around as arms grabbed at him viciously. He landed with the air knocked out of his lungs, wrestling with the angel. 

“What did you do to me? Where are we?!”

They rolled on the floor, Nick grasping her hands to stop her from choking him to death. “Bitch, I was trying to help you!” he growled. He kicked her off and she deftly backflipped into a crouching position before straightening.

“What have you witches done to the Castellan?” She demanded hotly, fists clenched at her sides.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The breadknife by the kitchenette levitated and shot towards him. Nick resisted it, it hovered in the air, exactly half the distance between them.

“My brothers and sisters are dead. Your dark lord had something to do with it,” she seethed venomously.

“I have no goddamn idea what the Castellan is!”

“Keep our Lord's name out of your damned mouth,” she hissed.

“I’m not even in the correct century, how the hell would I know what's going on?" He argued vehemently.

“You used the Greendale stones to come to travel to the past!"

“Because I was fighting pagans. I nearly died in the process of travelling here, not intentionally, I might add. I was trying to save my friends. Believe me, I don't know who attacked your family!” He felt like he was reasoning with a complete idiot.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and then eased her push on the bread knife until it clattered onto the floor. He only realised how heavily he was breathing just then.

Perhaps it wasn’t totally hopeless. “Your family was attacked, so was mine. I’m a witch from the future who can’t possibly be of any use to you. If your precious Castleton was—”

“Castellan,” she corrected, curtly.

“Yeah, whatever. Your priorities must be elsewhere right now, don’t you think?”

She regarded him a long moment, he felt unsettled by her piercing green stare, as she analysed his soul again. “You aren’t lying.”

“Yeah, no shit!”

“They say God has a plan for every single mortal that ever was, that ever will be. That includes witches. We are supposed to to guide humanity towards his vision for them." She said it like she was reading directions on a sign.

“That’s lovely,” he mocked dryly, “but I still won't hop on that train with you, unless God’s vision involves getting me home.”

“You must have been sent here for a reason, even if you don’t know it,” said Sophiel. “Even if I don’t.”

He arched a brow, surprised. “Your God doesn’t give you a manual?" 

“Not exactly,” she replied. _Nice to know their God is as vague as ours_. “The circumstances have changed for all of us. We need to talk.”

He held his palms up, in agreement. “Anything that doesn’t involve trying to kill one another. I’ll get behind that.”

…

“Must we really have our conversation in a diner?” Asked the angel, peering around the place as if it were a garbage dump.

“I travelled a long way to get here, so I’m starving.” Being in a public place also had the added bonus of witnesses, in case she had any funny ideas, he had to be prepared for any tricks she may have.

He ordered a cheeseburger and fries. In modern day Greendale, this particular joint had been converted into an appliance store, after the previous owner won the lottery and moved on to greener pastures.

“Damn, everything in 1980 absurdly cheap," he muttered closing the menu and regarded his current company. The angel looked human, spoke like a human, but somehow managed to seem completely out of place there. Her eyes were wary, her suede jacket was burnt at the cuffs, long hair a mess. She threw perplexed looks at the various condiments on the table.  


  
As he dug into his food, Sophiel stared at the basket of fries. He munched on, weirded-out by the entire situation, their tentative understanding. He would never have expected to sit down and have a 'civilised,' meal with an angel in his lifetime. The fact either of them were still alive, and currently weren't murdering the other, was one for the history books. 

A french fry started to levitate in the air.

"Hey cut that out,” he scolded, in hushed tones.

It went higher and higher. 

He spotted a six year old kid across the diner gaping at the phenomenon. Nick swatted the fry out of the air.

  
  
"You're going to attract too much attention doing shit like that.”

She looked annoyed. “My powers are waning,” she pushed the plate away from her. “Heaven was collapsing, my brothers and sisters were being thrown out of the first sphere, and I’m not as strong as I used to be. Everything’s falling apart, how does that happen?” She threaded her fingers through her hair, brows furrowed in thought.

That wasn’t a revelation either of them were pleased with. _How do I get back home if the angel doesn’t have enough juice for the spell?_

He regarded the unwanted plate of fries, with the worries piling on one another, suddenly the food in his belly didn’t sit right. “Let me guess, angels don't eat?"

“No.”

"What _do_ you do?" He asked. "Besides being an absolute pain in our assess?" 

He was really pushing it by being a dick to her, but she did try to kill him. _She’s going to ask God to smite me any second now._

Thankfully, she didn’t, and for some reason, he genuinely wanted to know.

“Earth bound duties,” she replied stoically. “We take souls to heaven, listen to prayers, kill dark creatures, hunt witches. We're also supposed to train and be prepared for any threat to the planet and cosmos. But …we failed at that,” she swallowed, her fists clenched in silent rage, then switched back to her stoic concentration.

His hopes sunk. “If you don’t have powers, I can’t go home.” She was his only plan. _Damn it._ Most people he met, he could instantly figure out what their motives were, their next step: they either wanted to kill him, sleep with him, were simply curious or wanted something from him good or bad. It was that simple. Yet, she was still impossible for him to read, besides her understandable frustration and anger at her loss (that itself appeared in controlled parcels to him), she didn't cry, she didn't smile, there were no secret intentions for him to uncover. Perhaps that was what made angels the perfect servants, having no external desires but to protect their own kind and serve their God. 

“If I can find other angels, communicate with whoever is alive, gather our numbers perhaps I will regain my strength. You were top of your class once, in your witch academy.” She said unable to keep the mild scorn out of the words. "Perhaps you could give me insight on what attacked Heaven." 

“Yeah, once upon a time I was top, but I haven’t attended classes in a while since this,” he waved at his body in general, “—was occupied by Satan himself. How do you know I was—? Oh, right you read souls. You can see the ‘happy ‘phases of my life.” He snorted ironically, "anyway, if you don't even know what it was, how am I supposed-"

Suddenly, her hand moved to his face, he swerved away from it like it carried the plague. “Hey!"

“I can show you. I’m not going to hurt you,” she stared at him, unblinking, if she was trying to reassure him it didn't work.

Nick swallowed the tightness in his throat. He’d gotten a little too comfortable just now, but she wasn’t throwing knives or arrows at him just yet…

He slowly leaned forward. Her fingers cupped his jaw. Nick may have been a polyamorous playboy in another life, in another _decade,_ but the gesture was far too intimate for his own taste, especially coming from his mortal enemy. His entire body was rigid as a board. _Is this the moment a burst of white light incinerates me?_

In the next blink, he saw the events of her battle as if he experienced it himself. The palace she came from was utterly, breathtakingly, beautiful. It was otherworldly, floating amongst an expanse of pastel clouds. Except, in this memory, it was in chaos, flames and smoke. A giant monster of fire and lava, demolished the crystal palace and killed angels, striking them down like pestering flies. It was pitiful how fast they were losing. Surprising himself, Nick took no joy in seeing it. He smelt the sulphur and soot in the air. He saw an angel on the ground, wings burnt. The angel must have mattered to Sophiel because he felt her heartache in that moment as she died, her life force drained out of her in the form of ether: a substance that flowed like water, but weighed like air.

He was sucked back into the reality of the diner; the bell above the entrance dinged, the cook shouted; ‘order up!’ Maple syrup pancakes passed by them. The change in scenery was jarring.

Sophiel watched him closely, her hand on the table between them. “Is it hellborn? Was it Lucifer?”

He blinked a few times, needing a moment to adjust. He sighed, squeezing his upper lip as he did when he was thinking. “It could be, it has the features of it, but I know Lucifer. We were cellmates in my head.” He tapped his temple. “He wouldn’t send a monster to attack heaven, that’s too easy for him. He’d infiltrate it, dismantle it, at least take credit for any attacks. He would get revenge on his archangel brothers who betrayed him. He would’ve been there to see all of you die, too, relished in it. Since the Earth hasn’t turned into a wasteland of human slaves with demon’s running amuck, there’s still a chance you haven’t lost, have you considered that?”

She pursed her lips, leaned back in her seat. “Hm, you’re smarter than you look, Scratch.”

Nick was puzzled, but a grin itched to the pull up the corners of his lips: “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

_Are we actually getting along?_ He banished that thought, _she tried to kill you, you idiot._ He lost a lot of blood, he wasn’t thinking straight. Throughout his life he always had a clear understanding of his friends and enemies. The rules changed for him recent months, but never more so, right in that moment.

“So…what’s your plan?”

She lifted her palm. He missed the exact moment she cast her spell, but he noted the dead silence first. He looked around, the waitress frozen with her foot mid-air, the cooks in the kitchen flipping a pancake, the second hand on the clock stuck.

He glared daggers at her, leaping out of his seat. "What are you doing? You said you were weak!"

She didn't react to him, didn't move. Then she opened her palm, her compass rested in it. Panic shot like cold water through his veins, she must have taken it off him when she shared the memory.

“I’m sorry Nicholas, we can’t stay in Greendale.” A whirl of golden light formed at his heels.

“I am not going anywhere with you-!” His words were stolen from him as the fibers in his being were torn apart, dragged into the cosmos.


End file.
